


Take 2

by trillingstar



Category: Oz (1997)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Ficlet, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-06-20
Updated: 2008-06-20
Packaged: 2017-10-08 15:37:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/77146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trillingstar/pseuds/trillingstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rebellious, teenaged Toby's managed to get himself grounded.  Tsk!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take 2

**Author's Note:**

  * For [michele659](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=michele659).
  * Translation into 中文 available: [take 2](https://archiveofourown.org/works/640956) by [sadz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadz/pseuds/sadz)



> The second of two unrelated ficlets written for [Michele659](http://michele659.livejournal.com)'s prompt of "smoking - sexy, not dark".
> 
> Thank you to [Colleen Detroit](http://colleendetroit.livejournal.com).

  
It fucking sucks that I have to take the bus. Okay, I'm grounded, and not being able to drive myself around is quickly turning into an enormous pain in the ass. Not only do the buses seem to have their own schedule that doesn't coincide with any of the official schedules, but also the "waiting areas" leave a hell of a lot to be desired.

It has to be like forty below and I've been standing here for nearly twenty minutes in a plastic lean-to with seven other people. We're practically huddled together to fight off the chilly wind and I clutch at the strap of my backpack with numb fingers. Sometimes I really hate my parents.

I mean, god, it was the first time I've ever been pulled over! So I had a few at Tommy's party, but it's not like I wasn't totally fine to drive. The cop said I swerved over the yellow line, but only because I was trying to avoid mashing up a squirrel. Stupid cop must have had to make quota this month or something.

I'm grinding my teeth together when someone leans in way close, like, overly close for a stranger, and asks me if I have a light. It's on the tip of my tongue to say no, just so I don't have to root around in my backpack or take off my gloves, but then I figure I could use the good karma, so I say, "Yeah," and look at the guy.

If time's not already freezing, it definitely slows to a crawl. Close-cropped brown hair peeking out from the sides of a woolen cap and the most fucking beautiful blue eyes I've ever seen. The cold must have infected my brain, because I forget what the guy wants. I'm staring, I know I am, but I can't drag my eyes away from his eyes.

Finally, he prompts me. "Got a light?"

I fight the oncoming blush and hand him my backpack while I pull my glove off with my teeth. "Uh, yeah, pretty sure there's one right… here…" Triumphantly, my fingers close around my trusty Zippo and I pull it out and start to hand it to the guy. But he doesn't take it; he just looks at me expectantly.

God! It's not enough that I have a lighter, now I have to do all the work too? His lips twist as he smiles and his dimples almost knock me on my ass. Oh, _fine_… he is holding my bag up, keeping it out of the snow.

Pulling off my other glove, I tuck them into the pocket of my parka. Flipping the top back, I flick the wheel and get a spark. Cupping the side of the lighter, it still takes three tries before the flame catches, and then the guy's big, warm hands cover mine as he leans in close, cigarette dangling between his lips.

How in the hell are his hands so _hot_? The heat flares out along my wrists and travels down my arms. My stomach knots up and my dick hardens. He steadies my hands and lights up, and then leans back and winks at me. "Thanks," he says in this throaty, rich voice that makes me want to start a conversation just to hear more of it.

And I would, too, except the fucking bus pulls up right as I'm opening my mouth, and I look down to find my backpack sitting on the ground, getting wet. Great. Leaning down, I jerk it up and put my lighter away, carefully looking away from the guy. A spiral of smoke drifts by my face, and I wave my hand around until it dissipates. I'm almost on the bus when the guy puts his freaky hot hand on my shoulder, so I _have_ to look at him.

"Sorry," he says, and then I'm putting my token in the machine and finding a seat, my soggy backpack at my feet. I wait for him to get on the bus, half-hoping he'll sit by me; when I look out the window, he's leaning against the one wall of the lean-to, hands tucked into his jacket, smoking his cigarette. I guess this isn't his bus.

His voice echoes in my head. _"Sorry."_

Yeah, me too.

He'd better be here tomorrow. If I have to take the bus, I'm going to make damn sure it's worth my while. And this guy… I think he's going to be worth it.


End file.
